


The Forest Flies

by CheetahLeopard2



Category: Haikyuu!!
Genre: Dragon Iwaizumi Hajime, M/M, Magic, folktale
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-01-02
Updated: 2020-01-02
Packaged: 2021-02-27 16:07:56
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,994
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22089874
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/CheetahLeopard2/pseuds/CheetahLeopard2
Summary: Told in a story-telling narrativeThere is a tale, one that has been passed from my great-grandmother to my grandfather and on down the line, persisting throughout generation by generation.A tale of learning to trust. A tale of give and take. A tale of willingness to sacrifice anything for friendship. A tale of love born of friendship, and of friendship persisting through love.And I think you, lovely listener, could stand to hear it.
Relationships: Iwaizumi Hajime/Oikawa Tooru
Comments: 3
Kudos: 37





	The Forest Flies

**Author's Note:**

> This was my piece for Haikyuu!! Tales a Folktale Zine

There is a tale, one that has been passed from my great-grandmother to my grandfather and on down the line, persisting throughout generation by generation.

A tale of learning to trust. A tale of give and take. A tale of willingness to sacrifice anything for friendship. A tale of love born of friendship, and of friendship persisting through love.

And I think you, lovely listener, could stand to hear it.

/////

Oikawa Tooru is a powerful being. It was not always this way, and it is doubtful that it will be this way forever.

But, nonetheless, Oikawa Tooru is a powerful being, one who has grown his strength from the ground up. Quite literally, for you see, Tooru is a hamadryad.

You might find yourself asking, “What’s a hamadryad?” Well, dear listener, a hamadryad is a being that controls the forest where their tree’s roots have spread to grow more and more trees until it’s a sizable patch of land. Tooru’s tree first sprouted here longer ago than Tooru can be bothered to remember, alongside his dear old friend Yuda’s. 

Yuda had since been infected, and his trees withered away. A new hamadryad has taken root in that area now, Yahaba Shigeru. In a short amount of time, Yahaba has grown his patch to the size Yuda’s was before, though it’s still considerably smaller than Tooru’s.

Tooru thinks Yahaba will do well, after all, Tooru  _ has _ taken him under his wing.

In his younger days, much like Yahaba, Tooru had taken good care of his main tree and spread quickly. 

As soon as he was well established enough, Tooru turned more to taking care of the creatures under his care than taking care of his own main tree, the one who’s roots sprouted into the rest of his patch of forest.

Protection, keep in mind dear, is something others can do. Actually caring for the tree, drinking water and changing the colors of the leaves for winter, is something only the hamadryad can personally do. 

Tooru, at the point he’s established, is not good at caring for himself or his tree, at most focusing on his humanoid appearance looking healthy enough to distract attention from the bags under his eyes and drooping of his branches and how his tree has yet to flower, had failed in some years past. 

The others are more important.

On the particular day our tale begins, Tooru is talking amicably with Matsukawa Issei, an otter shifter, by the edge of Irihata’s pond. The pond, as the accumulation of a god’s power, appears different depending on one’s needs. There are many inhabitants of the pond who, by most accounts, are unfitting of the habitat. Issei has brought to the surface many a story of creatures only found in the sea, or of freshwater fish swimming up towards the stream. 

Today is a day he learns of more creatures, as well as catches up with an old friend. It should be a routine day. 

But keep in mind that this is the day this tale begins, and therefor is going to turn out to be anything but a “routine” day.

As indeed the tale tells us, it is soon after he finishes his official talk with Issei and moved on to more casual topics that Tooru senses it. A presence that he knows nothing of setting foot on that land under his care. It is a magical presence of course, for humans rarely pass through Tooru’s part of the forest. Tooru has heard a few tales of humans from his new neighbor and disciple, Yahaba, but it has been near half a century since one has been in his patch. 

The presence was odd, as it only seemed about as old as Tooru’s tree itself, but the type of magic the presence has, the creature they must be, is ancient. Far more ancient than those of werecreatures or shifters or even magical humans. 

As ancient as hamadryads, as ancient as a god’s magic. 

And, furthermore, Tooru was unable to identify what they might be. 

Now, hold this close listener, Tooru is easily a couple centuries old. He has seen the growth of the first tree in the entire forest, as it was his own. He has felt other trees sprout from his roots, has seen the beginning and passing-on of Yuda’s entirely separate tree that had blossomed into the section of the growing forest that was passed to Yahaba. He has seen a number of different creatures pass from the market. He has been host to many travelers, cared for many injured passer-byes, helped along many wandering souls. And yet-

Nothing. Nothing that reminds him of a creature in this magic. Nothing holds him captive with curiosity as this magic does now.

And so Tooru puts his hand against the nearest tree, and through its roots hurries to the tree nearest the newcomer.

/////

The newcomer is facing away when Tooru melts out of the closest tree. He looks… human. 

He’s kneeling with a map ahead of him, and Tooru looks over his shoulder from the branches as the human? waves a hand over the map, and the paper wavers as though there was a heat wave and rises, forming layers and color that Tooru can’t help but lean forward to see better. The forest from above, each tree-top detailed, each flying creature moving along above, is beautiful. The man’s shoulders tense and he reaches forwards, swirling a finger above the center in a clockwise direction so that the area shown by the map is larger, even as the map remains the same size. 

The man mutters something in contemplation, his voice deep and somewhat raw. He swirls his finger the opposite direction closer to the top of the map, where Irihata’s pond has become visible. The map zooms in but in that direction, and with a tap, a line appears from where Tooru recognizes they are in the forest to the pool. The man waves his hand again and the map becomes flat once more before disappearing. Interesting. A casual show of powerful magic.

“Nice trinket you’ve got there.” 

The man quite literally jumps to his feet, looking directly at where Tooru sits, cheerfully swinging his feet from his perch. 

Good audio localization, then. 

“Hello,” the stranger says cautiously. His voice is indeed raw, more that it seems would be natural, as though he had been running for a while without water. It would certainly explain why he was looking for a path to Irihata’s pond.

“Yahoo~” Tooru says in return with a two-fingered wave, “You look a little-” Tooru pauses, both for the dramatic flair of it and because he has a multitude of ways he could finish that sentence. He settles on, “Lost.” He says this last word with a grin that’s more of a baring of teeth and a swirl of his hand in the air, his eyes shifting from the surrounding scenery to bore into the strangers eyes. Threatening. 

Tooru has a right to make a slight show here, to a stranger of unknown kind who somehow showed up far into Tooru’s patch without being sensed before now. To a stranger who holds magic as ancient as the first gods and hamadryads and is as old as Tooru but is unidentifiable. 

The stranger stares back at Tooru, unblinking. His eyes are green, a color not seen in many except cats, dryads, or sirens. Tooru wonders, for an instant, if this stranger might be a siren, but dismisses the thought immediately. After all, a siren would hear the waters of Irihata’s pond calling to them. And a siren’s voice would always be smooth, as it is their greatest weapon. Not to mention that, although this stranger is certainly objectively attractive enough to be a siren, Tooru would recognize a siren’s magic.

When the stranger doesn’t respond, Tooru melts into the tree, leaving the stranger blinking in confusion at where he was sitting. 

Tooru melds silently out of the tree behind him, and the stranger jumps again when Tooru taps his shoulder. Tooru fights the urge to smirk as he continues, “Perhaps I can be of assistance?” Tooru lifts his chin slightly, looking down at the stranger. 

The stranger’s eyes seem to be glowing, and he looks around for an escape, his mysterious ancient magic shifting and swirling in unease.

He seems to realize that if Tooru were going to outright attack him he would’ve done so by now, and speaks, “That would be great, thanks.”

Tooru turns his back to the stranger, waving a hand behind him, “Come on, then.” 

Now listener, keep in mind that this is Oikawa Tooru. He is a Hamadryad in his own forest, turning his back on someone who is on his ground surrounded by that forest, full of others who will protect him, and who just accepted his aid. Never, ever- You hear me listener? Ever turn your back on a stranger, especially one who has demonstrated a show of powerful magic with no audience to impress. What Tooru does so now is a show of strength. 

And with that warning, we shall continue with the tale. 

The strangers scrambles forward to walk slightly behind Tooru, on his left, and despite their height difference, the stranger keeps up rather well. 

There are many things Tooru could do now.

Seeing as he’s wary of the stranger, Tooru opts to turns subtly away from the direction of Irihata’s pond. If the stranger notices, he doesn’t say anything.

“What’s your name?” Tooru idly throws over his shoulder.

“You can call me Iwaizumi,” Iwaizumi steps over a root that Tooru manipulated in front of him without a glance to it, and Tooru is struck again by the knowledge that this being is very possibly just as (or even more) powerful than himself.

“I’m not a Fae, Iwa-chan, you don’t have to be wary about the way you disclose your name,” Tooru sees Iwaizumi startle a bit out of the corner of his eye at the nickname, and he hides his smirk.

Recovering quickly, and being wary enough (ahem, smart enough) not to question Tooru’s nickname, Iwaizumi responds with, “Even if you aren’t a Fae, names are powerful.”

Tooru hums, eyeing the edge of his part of the forest, “I suppose.” They’re nearly there.

Iwaizumi stops, looking around and noting how a mere few feet ahead the trees change, “Are you sure this is the right way?”

Tooru turns, crossing his arms, “It is for where you are supposed to be.”

Iwaizumi narrows his eyes, “And where would that be?”

“Out of my part of the forest,” Tooru stands his ground, building magic flowing through the trees around them, leaves rustling menacingly. Ready for a fight.

And then Iwaizumi does what Tooru hadn’t been expecting.

His eyes widen and he immediately kneels, “I apologize, I didn’t realize you’re the Hamadryad of this part of the forest.”

Tooru’s arms unfold, and although he’s shocked he refuses to let it show, instead studying Iwaizumi’s posture with hard eyes. Iwaizumi seems sincere, and Tooru can’t exactly ignore a formal apology, but he doesn’t want to forgive someone who has yet to tell Tooru what his business is in his forest.

“What is your business in land under my protection?” Tooru settles on.

“I mean no harm. I wish to consult with Irihata-kami.”

While Iwaizumi offers no more details and doesn’t look up, Tooru considers his options. Iwaizumi had done no harm so far, and he has been very polite. Still, Tooru wants to keep an eye on him.

“I’ll lead you to him,” Tooru finally says, and Iwaizumi’s eyes snap up.

Tooru gestures for Iwaizumi to rise and begins walking, Iwaizumi scrambling to catch up.

Tooru wants to ask why Iwaizumi needs to consult with Irihata, but it is not his place to ask. He isn't Irihata’s better, and Irihata's business isn't up to Tooru to know.

Now, that doesn't mean that he can't ask questions. 

“So, Iwa-chan, where are you from?”

Iwaizumi pauses briefly, recovering so quickly Tooru would have missed it if he weren't paying close attention. 

“The Raindrop Cliffs,” Iwaizumi’s voice is carefully casual, which is to say that Tooru can find emotion hidden behind his answer. 

But beyond Iwaizumi's careful tone, Tooru doesn't know that place. Perhaps this is because Tooru is not very well traveled, as he's bound to his land. But he's never heard any of the creatures that visit or are under his protection speak of the Raindrop Cliffs. 

When Tooru was younger, he was enamored with stories of the world beyond the forest. He would spend days at a time sitting beside the pond, chatting with a saltwater being about their home, or at the tops of trees, listening to the aerial passers-by talk about all the world they have seen. He has never left his forest, but that does not mean he does not know the world. 

He's never heard of the Raindrop Cliffs. 

Tooru hums, “And what are you?”

Iwaizumi starts, nearly tripping, “What?”

“I've never sensed a being with magic like yours, you claim to have come from a place I've never heard of, and you somehow appeared in the middle of my patch.” 

Iwaizumi blinks, as though still processing Tooru's question, “I'm a dragon?” His voice makes it seem like his mind is a million miles away. 

It's Tooru's turn to be confused, “A what?”

Iwaizumi shakes his head in disbelief, “You don’t know what dragons are?”

Tooru raises an eyebrow instead of repeating himself.

“But. We’re everywhere!” Iwaizumi’s voice raises incrementally as his tone becomes slightly distracted with incredulity, his magic flicking out in irate flashes that betray his inner turmoil.

Tooru just shakes his head with a sinking feeling in his stomach. 

“But my mom-” Iwaizumi cuts himself off, tightening his jaw, magic pulling back as though nothing happened, “I need to speak with Irihata-kami, if you are still willing to lead me to him.” 

Tooru does and says nothing to betray his burning curiosity, instead turning and making a carefully flippant gesture for Iwaizumi to follow him.

There’s a tense silence for the rest of the walk. Not outwardly tense, mind you, but the kind of silence where one person doesn’t walk to talk about the thing that he doesn’t know the other is burning up with curiosity about.

At last, when there is a glimpse of blue through the trees, Tooru breaks the silence, “We are approaching Irihata-kami’s pond, it would do you well to be as respectful as possible.”

“Of course-” Iwaizumi starts, before his voice seems to die in his throat. 

Tooru doesn’t blame him, after all it  _ is  _ his first time seeing Irihata’s pond. 

Ah- But of course, you, listener, have never seen that area. 

Irihata’s pond is ever-changing. To the eyes, the only things that change are the direction the waves ripple and the color of the water. But whoever trusts only their eyes is unknowing of the true world, and so our description will go beyond the simplicities of sight. The air grows different the closer you are to the pond. The smell itself changes depending. Depending on what, we may never know, although personally I suspect that it has something to do with what you seek and how much the god thinks you deserve to find it. To some, it smells of salt and seaweed, of mysteries and the clicks and whistles of creatures of the deep. To others, it smells of the boggy mud of a marsh, with its hidden dangers and, in turn, its hidden treasure. Depending on the time and the being, the back and forth of the waves that ignore the wind may be loud, may be soft, or may sound of ripples that echo beyond the realm any mortal can comprehend. The pond is always welcoming, except to those who wish harm upon it. The pond bursts with life, peace, happiness, and the cause of it all- forming from the surface of the pond- the god himself, Irihata. 

"Iwaizumi-kun, I assume?" Irihata asks, eyes twinkling with amusement as Iwaizumi hurries to bow. 

"Yes, Irihata-kami, and I bring news from home." 

"No need to be so formal, young one. Let’s get to business later, after you tell me about how you are." Irihata then turns to Tooru, “May we have a minute?”

Tooru shifts, about to protest, but the look Irihata’s giving him tells him that this is a rather weighted request.

He turns, waving a hand behind him, “I’ll be back later.”

/////

Tooru doesn’t see Iwaizumi until later that night.

The pond is no less ethereal at the tail end of dusk, fireflies beginning to twinkle, dancing lights over the pond’s surface, the dark blue of the sky and the winking of the first of the stars reflected in the surface, clouds seamlessly blending into the picturesque image rippling in front of them. The air alights cool upon their skin, soothing down the stress of the day and urging them to rest. The night seems to muffle all sound, the chirping of crickets and cicadas distant, and the soft gurgling of the small waterfall only adds to the ambiance. A light breeze rustles the leaves gently, causing Tooru to smile, relaxing in the way one does when they hadn’t realized they’d been tense. 

Ahead of him, sitting cross-legged and straight-backed at the edge of the water, is Iwaizumi. A serene smile graces his features, and his deep breathing could almost convince Tooru that he’s asleep, then Iwaizumi speaks, “Hello, Hamadryad-san.”

Tooru doesn’t verbally respond, instead walking as silently as he can to sit beside the dragon. He settles with his feet planted in front of his, elbows resting on his knees.

They sit there, in a comfortable silence, staring across the water as the last of the light stops filtering through the trees and the stars and fireflies glow bright as the half-crescent moon.

Tooru is the first to break the silence, “Couldn’t sleep?”

Iwaizumi shakes his head, “Don’t need much sleep in the first place.”

Tooru hums, reaching out towards the pond with an elongating finger. He pretends not to notice Iwaizumi’s gaze as the appendage hardens, skin lining with bark and color fading into a soft brown. 

With the slightest hesitation, Tooru allows the faint tickling sensation along the bark bloom into simple yet breathtaking blue flowers. Idly, he traces the branch through the water in random patterns. 

This is often how he chooses to drink, a calming habit. 

Ordinarily, he would sit here, gradually succumbing to the urge to revert to his roots until a willow- that looks suspiciously like the one in the center of the patch- rests beside the water.

Today is different. 

Today he plans to gain knowledge, not just hydration. 

“How was your journey?”

Iwaizumi starts, dragging his gaze from where skin melds to bark, “It was long, uneventful.”

Tooru hums again, “I imagine that any journey would be like that.”

Iwaizumi gives him an odd look, “It depends on the company,” he says at last. 

“Did you not have good company?” Tooru asks, not willing to betray how intense his interest is, still looking at his branch, idly swirling and tapping the water.

“I had no one.” Iwaizumi says, and while his tone is light, it is carefully so. As though the statement weigh heavily on him.

There is a small moment of silence, and Tooru contemplates the best way to continue the conversation without potentially upsetting his companion.

Before he can speak, however, Iwaizumi breaks the silence, “Where have you traveled?”

Tooru looks at the dragon, expression carefully constructed in an amused grin, “I’m a hamadryad, Iwa-chan, I have gone nowhere but the slowly-spreading width of my patch.”

Iwaizumi’s eyebrows furrow slightly, “Why not? I assume you are powerful enough to go where you wish without the protection of your inhabitants, and I assume they know to care for themselves.”

“That’s an awful lot of assumptions Iwa-chan,” Tooru says with a soft smile, shifting his gaze away with a small, pleased upturn of his lips as Iwaizumi stutters out an apology. 

Tooru stops him with a gentle laugh, “You’re right, but my power is here. I do not wish to leave, and it would be unwise to do so even if I wanted to.”

Iwaizumi looks like he isn’t sure how to respond, so Tooru takes pity on him, “Where have  _ you _ traveled?” 

Iwaizumi is startled for a second before he smiles, “How will you know what I mean when a name somewhere if you’ve never been?”

“I guess you’ll have to tell me all about it,” Tooru smiles, bumping his shoulder to Iwaizumi’s, and Iwaizumi laughs and begins.

The sun rises, staining the pond with strips of red sunlight from between the trees, on two forms slumped against each other, asleep. 

It is most wonderful, listener, to have someone to talk with until the threads of night unravel.

The conversation might be about the most innocuous or most consequential topics, yet either way the night holds those words sacred. No one but those involved and the night hold the knowledge of words exchanged during this time. It is the best way to begin a friendship, and the strongest way to upkeep one. 

And indeed, this late night talk spiraled into many others, with the topics growing more and more personal. More and more true to self, until they might think to know each other inside and out. 

Tooru learns more and more about Iwaizumi, of his family of dragons up at the Raindrop Cliffs. Of what a dragon even is. He learns about Irihata’s friend: Iwaizumi’s mother, a fire dragon who cooks meat the best, who teaches the younger dragons traditional dances and flight skills. He learns about Iwaizumi’s grandmother, the river dragon, and how when they had to move to the Raindrop Cliffs, she died of despair at being so far from her love who could not stray so far from the sea. He learns of Iwaizumi’s beloved cousin who is closer to him than a sibling. Most of all, he learns about Iwaizumi. He learns about his fierce loyalty, his strong emotions. He learns of Iwaizumi’s brightest smile, and of his deepest laugh. 

Tooru learns about himself too, of what it feels like to have the potential with someone to love.

The days are busy as well, after Tooru opens up to Iwaizumi about the inhabitants of his patch. There are many stories Tooru shares of his friends, and when Iwaizumi goes to meet them there are many new memories as well. Iwaizumi is quickly approved of by the others, as he’s always willing to lend a hand or talk.

Iwaizumi gets along with Issei and Takahiro just as well as Tooru, perhaps better in Takahiro’s case. They had bonded immediately over having the call for the sea in their blood, however faint. 

The ningyo, older than Tooru, had apparently recognized Iwaizumi as a dragon almost immediately, and as the son of the close friend of Irihata’s soon after.

The time passes quickly.

Perhaps too quickly, as Tooru had not realized that as the nights go on, he becomes more and more attached, until his thread of fate is interwoven much more tightly with Iwaizumi’s than he could have imagined…

\\\\\\\\\

The moon is at a half crescent again, barely visible in the daylight, when Irihata sends Issei on call for Iwaizumi. 

It’s urgent.

Tooru had been making his rounds when the call came, so he arrived to the lake a bit later than the others, and the first thing he notices when he materializes out of the nearest tree is Iwaizumi’s expression. 

As Iwaizumi strongly feels, his expression is easy to read so long as he’s not consciously hiding his emotions. 

His expression at that moment is open, and yet inscrutable to Tooru. There are so many emotions flying through his eyes, twisting his lips, and furrowing his brows that his face so resembles the storms he has the power to summon. 

Tooru looks into the scrying puddle that Issei, Takahiro, and Irihata are staring at with various expressions of horror. Iwaizumi’s expression is reflected in the scrying water, overlapping the flames destroying what must be the Raindrop Cliffs with his swirling tempest of emotion. Tooru sees a human form amid the flames, around their age. It’s when she falls, blue blood sliding across her face like tears, Iwaizumi’s expression settles on one of rage and despair. 

“I have to go home.” 

No one is surprised by Iwaizumi’s declaration, and the way Iwaizumi’s voice slightly cracks in the middle is anything but unexpected. 

Still, Irihata holds up a hand, “Stay one more night, and fly out well rested tomorrow light.”

Iwaizumi opens his mouth to protest, but Irihata stops him, “Would it not be better than flying after a full day and having to rest more?”

Iwaizumi holds Irihata’s unyielding gaze, before finally looking at the ground, his hands clenched into fists so tight Tooru wouldn’t be surprised if his fingernails broke skin.

“Fine.”

/////

That night, Tooru is late to the pond.

Hajime is sitting cross-legged, his back hunched and his shoulders down.  _ Defeated _ . Tooru sits down next to him in the same position as he had that first night, so long ago.

“Hey.”

“I almost thought you weren’t coming,” Iwaizumi says, voice raw.

Tooru doesn’t know what to say, unsure of whether he should reassure Iwaizumi that he wouldn’t miss their last night, or if he should make a joke.

He settles on a simple, sincere, “I’m so sorry, Iwaizumi.”

Iwaizumi turns to him, and opens his mouth to respond. Instead, his throat produces a cracked, choked-off sound, and he crumbles.

Tooru drops his knees, opening his arms and leaning towards Iwaizumi in a clear invitation.

Iwaizumi collapses into Tooru’s arms, his own coming around Tooru’s waist as his tears dampen the silk of his yakuta.

Tooru isn’t sure how long he holds Iwaizumi there before Iwaizumi speaks, but he can’t deny that he shed tears of his own. For the family he only knew of in tales, for the family who raised and loved the person he would give his soul to.

“It’s my fault,” Iwaizumi sobs, his throat grinding out the most painful words Tooru could have thought of for Iwaizumi to say.

“No,” Tooru can’t think of any other response that would ring as true, “There’s no way.”

“I left them,” Iwaizumi’s voice is barely a whisper, “it must be my fault.”

Tooru just holds him tights, shaking his head against Iwaizumi’s shoulder and hoping his message is understood.

“Whose fault could it be, other than mine?” Iwaizumi asks, sounding far away, a fresh wave of tears shaking his very core.

“The person who found your home, the people who…” Tooru trails off, unwilling to say anything that could potentially make things worse, “But not yours.”

Iwaizumi coughs, shaking his head, the last of his tears wrenched out of him by the cruel, uncaring hands of fate. 

“Iwaizumi-” Tooru begins, voice soft.

“Hajime.”

“What?” 

“My first name, it’s Hajime,” Hajime says, lifting his head from Tooru’s shoulder to look him in the eyes when Tooru’s hands slide from him in shock.

Tooru feels a feeling of immense calm wash over him, the calm felt before a storm. The feeling just as the first lightning streak starts across the sky in the distance, the feeling of  _ Hajime _ .

Tooru smiles a cried-out smile, wiping the tear streaks from his face, “Mine is Tooru.”

The rising light again stains the pond with red filtering through the gaps in the trees, finding two figures slumped against each other. This might be the last time.

/////

Hajime’s leaving is met with disappointment and sadness from the inhabitants of the patch, and while Hajime is packing away the last of his supplies, Tooru steps forward.

“On behalf of everyone here, I’d like to present you with this,” he holds forward a closed hand, waiting for Hajime to hold out his own hand before gently exchanging the object, a piece of sea glass, polished until it’s surface reflects the light, “We all worked magic into it, and now you should be able to find the patch from wherever you might find yourself.”  _ Please come back. _

Hajime’s eyes widen, almost filling with tears before he clears his throat, “Thank you. I shall treasure it, and I hope to make good use of it.”  _ I’ll try. _

/////

Hajime flies for nearly half a moon cycle, resting only to get water or food, before he reaches the Raindrop Cliffs. 

He hates what he finds. 

He doesn’t know what he was expecting, after Irihata’s vision in the scrying water.

Maybe he was not ready to accept it, or maybe the reality had not sunk in, the scrying bowl like another reality unfolding so far away.

Either way, when he flies over the Raindrop Cliffs, he does so twice, without recognizing what had always been his home. 

He finally sees, in a glimpse of flames, his normal landing site. 

It’s still smoldering to his left when he lands, and he almost summons rain to extinguish the embers, but then the realization hits-

Those embers are the last remains of his mother. 

He takes a few shaky steps toward them, until the heat is nearly unbearable and his eyes sting, though with unshed tears or stray flecks of ash is unknown to us. Although it was likely both.

Hajime would have gladly melded his scales together that night, rolling around in the last warmth his mother left him…

Instead, listener, he continued on with a heavy soul, looking through the once-magnificent hollows throughout the cliff face, hoping against hope that he might find a living being. And if not a living being, remains to honor the fallen. 

He was ultimately disappointed that night, left by himself to curl as close as he could to the ashes of his mother’s last fire and mourn.

The morning comes quickly. Too quickly, really, for Hajime had not gotten nearly as much rest as one should when in grief. 

Unfortunately, Hajime has really no choice in waking, for he is awoken by a burst of pain.

His eyes snap open, flashing green as the forest he left. What he sees is possibly the worst thing he wouldn’t have dared imagine. 

Humans. 

That in itself is not normally a problem, especially for those who are of an inhuman nature. Human are usually respectful of those with magic flowing along their veins. 

It has been too long, though, since large dragon populations flew the mortal world.

Now, curious listener, I suppose now is the best time for an explanation. 

Dragons were once plentiful, found in every place imaginable. Dragons themselves are indeed as old as the gods, hamadryads, phoenixes, and beings of early creation. They were respected by many. Even, as they came to be, humans. And then, as the roulette wheel decreed, dragons came to be seen by humans as mystical beings not to be respected, but to be conquered to prove oneself. The turnaround was at first mild, and dragons of the times saw it at worst as an annoyance and at best a challenge. 

These were the ages of human dragonriders. Those were the ages when ‘conquering’ meant proving yourself equal in strength, able to be seen as an equal power. 

And then the tides turned, and the river began to flow red.

‘Conquer’ began to mean ‘to take one’s power’. And to humans, to be a dragon was to have power. 

It would be asked “why dragons? Why not other beings?” 

The answer, inquisitive listener, is sometimes debating in hushed, mournful tones by gods who have existed long enough to remember. The most simple answer is thus: Dragons were in closer contact with humans than gods and forestfolk. 

Dragons became hunted, prey. 

Now know this listener, and never forget- A dragon is not to be messed with. Only dragons who retain faith in humans with ever have mercy on those who strike with intent to kill. Back in the beginning of the genocide, faith was to be found in every dragon’s heart, even if doubtful.

Hajime, in this moment, has no faith in the humans he sees for a plain, yet heart-wrenching reason.

The humans that surround him now come with dragon teeth around their necks and dragon scales protecting their skin and dragon bones whittled down to sword handles in their hands, and intend to strike to kill. 

Hajime doesn’t hesitate, he sees no lives, no souls. Only the bits and pieces of his now-broken family worn by murderers and misers of false worth. The lives they have stolen have granted them no value, and to Hajime, have granted only misery. 

Hajime spreads his wings, trying to make a quick escape.

An arrow is quicker in the air than Hajime’s wings are in take-off, and pain streaks up his left wing to the joint. Hajime pulls upon his magic to summon rain, and the humans shout as a downpour begins, perhaps harder than Hajime meant. Harder than Hajime can maintain for long. 

Hajime pays no heed to the amount of magical energy exerted in his escape, nor to the amount of blood slipping from his wing to the ground far beneath him. 

At least, he notices nothing until he nearly drops from the sky and releases the storm. Hajime quickly begins a decent, drifting as much as possible in the direction he feels his essence being pulled to. 

His landing isn’t the cleanest, but at least Hajime has enough magic and energy to pull himself into human form when on the ground. 

Panting, tired and spent, with a bloody tear in his skin from his bicep to his shoulder blade, Hajime reaches into his pockets for the last of his food. 

His hand brushes a dull edge, and Hajime feels his soul lurch. 

The sea glass. From it he can discern a distance sense of confused panic, and he can feel the directional pull that’s been guiding him stronger, strong enough it overwhelms the very faint ache for the sea.

With a torn heart and a tired soul, Hajime points his broken body towards the patch, and begins walking as the sky above is drained of the last of its blood red streaks to leave a blue expanse that Hajime could only wish at this moment to be quickly crossing.

///// 

It has been more than half a moon cycle since Hajime left for his family, and Tooru has been living on fake smiles and the occasional rain shower. The worry in his heart has begun to feel as though it erodes his bones, some days worse than others, but always bad. 

It’s in the morning when all goes wrong. 

Tooru hasn’t properly slept since Hajime left, and it’s a morning after a night of no sleep when he feels it. 

He jolts up from where he’s sitting beside Irihata’s pond,  _ Something’s wrong. _

Before he knows it he’s already phased back to his main tree, grabbing what few tradable things he’s collected over the years. 

He pauses.

Tooru is not quite sure why he’s doing this. 

You see listener, Tooru doesn’t connect this innate feeling immediately with Hajime. How could he, when they had no real way to communicate? No telepathic connection to speak of, no way to message each other?

Tooru also isn’t aware that the sea glass would draw Hajime’s emotions to the patch as well as his magical self. After all, it was the first time such a thing was made.

And still, that is precisely what the feelings of wrongness curling in his lungs and twining around his heart are from.

You might be wondering, dear listener, why none of the others in the patch are affected, and the answer is simple. The sea glass is a draw to the  _ patch _ , not those within. 

And, as the Hamadryad that the patch is grown as, Tooru and the patch are synonymous.

Which means not only that whenever he is in the patch Tooru is strong, surrounded by his magic, but also that the opposite is true. The further Tooru is from his magic, the weaker he is.

The longer Tooru is away from his magic, the closer to death he is.

But Tooru has never had much regard for his own well being as much as the wellbeing of others, and so at the first sign of someone else’s pain he is willing to put himself on the line.

You see, listener, for something to tug on his soul so fiercely, it must be important to him.

Whether or not he knows the cause of wrongness is irrelevant if Tooru understands that someone he cares about is in danger.

And so, Tooru sets off, not even a passing thought given to the fact that he’ll be heading into danger.

Ah, but story-seeker, you know that the danger Hajime was in has largely passed, leaving him only danger from his wounds. That is of no effect to the danger Tooru is putting himself in. 

For you see, there is an innate danger in Tooru being out of the patch. This is for three main reasons, the first having been already explained to you; Tooru is weak without the magic that makes him. The second is simple: Tooru has never been out of the patch, much less out of the forest. The third reason is one that might resonate with humans- he will be going alone. Without someone to make sure he is safe. Without someone to support his magic-less self. 

That is not to mention that all Tooru has to go on is the feeling of wrongness tugging him in a certain direction, unknowing and uncaring of what be awaiting him at the source.

Yet, Tooru sets off. 

It is too early in the morning for anyone to see him phase through the roots of his main tree to the very outskirts, and too late for anyone to stop him.

The first step out of the patch must have been odd to Tooru, for as I was told this story, it was the only time he hesitated. 

This tale is much older than me, story-seeker, and certainly much older than your mortal self. But I do not doubt its authenticity. Nor do I doubt its details. For this story was brought to my family by a traveler with green eyes, a kind smile, and a scar that reached from his left bicep to up underneath his sleeve. 

I was told that the siren to whom this tale was told was the cousin once removed of this traveler. 

It was this siren who took my grandfather in, and gave him the name of his mortal lover.

What was that name, you ask? Well, I suppose it would do no harm to tell you, as it is only part of my name. 

It was Bokuto. 

That name is of no relevance to this tale, so I shall continue on.

With each step Tooru takes away from the patch, he grows weaker, but nothing compares to when he steps from the forest for the first time.

The first thing he notices when he strides out of the forest is the light. Even as he doesn’t falter, his arm is brought up to shield his eyes. All Tooru’s life, he had only seen sunlight filtered through trees, or at its brightest reflected in Irihata’s pond. 

Now, there is nothing to dim the brightness. Nothing to chill the heat of the sun’s rays. 

Ah yes, the heat, the second thing to hit Tooru.

Tooru is a plant. A plant that had grown into a dryad under the careful shade of a near-faded Hamadryad as a successor. 

He had never felt the full heat of the sun. Even as his canopy bared the full brunt of it everyday, the trunks and lower branches were always granted relief. Relief that Tooru is now realizing he’s been taking for granted. 

He can only hope to find water, the heat exacerbating the effect of being away from his life-source. 

He does not.

What Tooru does not know is that the reason Hajime was looking for Irihata was counciling on the water shortage. 

Hajime’s mother had become too weak to make the flight, but remembered her old friend and sent Hajime instead.

Tooru is fading, and fading fast. 

His luck, as much as it may seem it has, has not run out.

Yes, he is alone in an unfamiliar environment for the first time, far away from his life force, without anyone knowing where he is and fading fast-

But still, his luck has not run out, because not all of those points are completely true. 

One being knows where he is. 

And that one being is heading towards him as fast as his broken, depleted body allows. 

\---

Hajime has been dragging himself along for what feels like days but really must have been mere hours. 

All he knows is pain and the tug on his soul.

The tug is an anchor, a soothing reminder that he is still alive. 

Possibly the last of his kind alive. 

Hajime shakes the thought off and hauls himself forward again. He can tell he’s close, the pull on his soul pulsing like a heartbeat.

And then he sees why, and his own heart speeds up-

Tooru sees him and reaches weakly out, but he’s falling, falling, f a l l i n g- 

**_Crack._ **

And Hajime’s heart plummets. Stops. Speeds up. 

Hajime’s vision goes white as adrenaline rushes through his rapidly shifting body.

He roars, an anguished sound that is not near as loud as a healthy dragon could be, and flies, paying no regard to the fact that he’s running past empty. 

He lands sloppily at the very edge of Tooru’s patch, summoning the heaviest healing rain he can, pushing the very last of his magic in the droplets that sprinkle on Tooru. 

The rain loses it’s healing powers and gains its freedom as Hajime collapses.

Their bodies are found curled together under the rain, peace written in every facet of their expressions.

\----

Tooru wakes to a dull, throbbing pain in his knee and many concerned faces.

He sits up, sand beneath his shaking palms indicating to him before he even looks around that he is by the scrying pool.

“H-” he begins, wincing at his cracked voice and the dryness of his throat, “How did I get back?”

“Why did you leave?” Takahiro asks back, tone hurt and panicked.

Issei sets a soothing hand on the ningyo’s arm, and Takahiro looks away, “Iwaizumi brought you back.”

“Iwaizumi!” Tooru gasps, jolting to attempt to stand, “Is he ok-”

His question is cut off by a jolting pain striking like lightning up from his knee.

“Your knee is very damaged,” comes Irihata’s voice from behind him, and Tooru turns to him.

His eyes widen immediately, a strangled sound escaping him. Because behind him, laying on the ground with labored breath and a bloody wing, is Hajime.

“He’s magically depleted. And badly wounded,” Irihata says, following Tooru’s gaze, “he is stuck as a dragon for the foreseeable future,” his eyes soften, “He may never wake up.”

“Then how do we save him?” 

Everyone but Irihata backs up, taken aback and slightly fearful of Tooru’s determined tone.

Irihata smiles resignedly, “There is a way…”

\---

You know what human marriage is, no? A contract between two people who wish to spend the rest of their lives together to never part. A human marriage, in the eyes of a dragon, is a formality that is not unlike a less-strict soulbind. 

A soulbind? Well, listener, it is as I said. It is a magical marriage, more strict than a human marriage. 

There are a multitude of reasons why a soulbind is more powerful than the legal contract that marriage is. The most important, and most relevant to this story, is thus: A soulbind does what the name implies, binding the partners’ souls and magic together. 

It is a lifelong, infallible commitment. It means that when one partner dies, those alive in the soulbind will die of a broken heart. It means that when one is injured, those uninjured feel it. And it means that those involved in the soulbind have a connection that goes beyond the physical, sharing feelings and thoughts when they so wish to do so. 

And a soulbind is the key to saving Hajime. 

Now listen here story-seeker, there is no way Tooru would agree to do this without Hajime’s consent. Or that anyone would do it without both their willingness.

Which is why Irihata is willing to use his powers as a god to facilitate a temporary soul-bond until they reach a conclusion. 

Hajime wakes as soon as Irihata implements it, reaching towards Tooru and pulling him closer to shelter him with his working wing.

“Iwa-chan?” 

“Your knee?” Hajime asks, and Tooru can feel the deep rumble of his words.

“It’s almost all better,” Tooru says with a bittersweet smile.

_ Thank you, Hajime. _ Tooru thinks at Hajime, and Hajime startles.

_ Are we-? _

Tooru quickly shakes his head,  _ Not unless you want to be. This is temporary. _

_ I want to be soulbound. You are my friend, my safe place. You came out looking for me when it put you in danger, and I know your soul. _

Tooru’s words are small, his red face peeking out from between his fingers,  _ I want to be as well. You are more to me than myself or my patch. You share yourself with me, and I’ll share myself with you. _

And that, listener, is all the consent needed. 

They both voiced their willingness to Irihata who, as a god, has the power to do a soulbinding ritual.

“You know.” Irihata says to Hajime, in a hushed tone, “I did this for your parents and grandparents as well.” 

And then it began.

It didn’t take much, as they already were temporarily bound. Despite that, though, being soulbound is much more intense and intimate than anything temporary will ever be.

Most, who are completely braced for it, are still caught off guard. 

But not all. 

Tooru and Hajime were as ready for each other as any who are soulbonding could ever be, already knowing how the other’s magic feels, already knowing that their strings of fate are so closely tangled together that no being could ever parce out where one ends and the other begins. 

As soon as they were bound, they laughed. In relief, in elation, in surety of their future and in love for each other.

And still, first and foremost, they are friends.

When this tale was first told to the siren who took in my grandfather by Iwaizumi, is was told in bits and pieces over tea. He told the siren, his cousin once-removed, that they have fallen into comfort. That they trust each other with their problems, fears, joys, and still- 

They fight, they joke, they have inside jokes and they are close to others in the patch as well as each other. 

Iwaizumi told the siren he leaves the patch to travel at least once every year, to bring back stories like courting gifts. He tells everyone in the patch almost all of them, but always saves the last for his best friend, his love, his safe place.

I think, story-seeker, that that is the kind of love to strive for. I hope that my simple tale has satisfied your curiosity, and that you remember it to come back to over and over. Words make a home, lovely listener, and so can others. Well wishes on your journey, and remember to take risks for things you love, no matter if it’s a being or an experience. Goodbye, and may you find what your heart strives to settle for.

**Author's Note:**

> Please comment!!


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